


With Unsteady Hands

by Momokai



Series: sweetest touch, words like song [1]
Category: The Yin Yang Master: Dream of Eternity, 晴雅集 | The Yin-Yang Master (2020)
Genre: And yet, Boya's Unexpected Journey Into The Deep And Profound Realm of FEELINGS, Boya/Gay Panic, In This House Honey Bug We Stan, Introspection Is My Bane, Like They Are So Obviously Pining For Each Other, M/M, Oneshot, Post-Canon, Pre-Slash, Qing Ming Is A Little Shit, Qing Ming Trying To Be Mysterious And Cool, Qing Ming You Dog, Tea Drinking Buddies, That's it that's the plot, it's canon change my mind, the gay is strong with this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momokai/pseuds/Momokai
Summary: Boya is not one for games, but when it comes to QingMing, he finds himself not above it. One such horror, he thinks sardonically.
Relationships: Qing Ming/Boya If You Squint
Series: sweetest touch, words like song [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165322
Comments: 29
Kudos: 219





	With Unsteady Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively: My obsessive need for content in this fandom and my inevitable attempt to fill it.

The air is heavy with the scent of blossoms and rain, moisture thick and sweet on the back of his tongue. Mist gathered and drifted, dancing over and between deep green leaves and rain touched flowers, and Boya breathed deep of the almost otherworldly tranquillity he'd inevitably wandered back to.

His skin, still damp from the touch of mist and rain alike, snatches almost greedily at the silken black fabric of his borrowed robe, warming slowly against the chill of evening.

He feels somewhat bare without the thick layers of his travel gear, black leather armour spirited away from his sight to be cleaned and dried by the flighty Spirit Guardian who had returned with hot tea on the heels of her master and his host.

QingMing had breezed into the room looking for all the world like he had just teleported through his own residence at having been informed of his guest, and Boya had greeted him with a raised brow, decidedly  _ not _ squirming in the overly thin inner robe he'd been left with (that he was under no delusions as to the ownership of).

He'd long since stopped putting such indecency past the likes of QingMing, the sneaky bastard. He doesn't even have his boots left to throw at the other master, as they'd been smuggled out from under his nose along with his armour whilst he'd been drying himself off after travelled through the downpour.

Not to say that QingMing was an ungracious host, only one with an improper sense of humour.  _ Shameless _ .

Once the tea had been arranged on the low table between them and the pair left to themselves, silence had descended but for the pitter patter of light rain fall and the occasional whisper of silk gliding against skin as they sipped tea without uttering a word.

It always began like this. If Boya was anyone else he'd have called it a game, but as it was he simply huddled with as much propriety as he could manage into his borrowed robe and tried to ignore the fact that his feet were bare and his back chilled under the midnight fall of his damp hair, pinned back only enough to keep it out of his face while he drank.

If QingMing had been anyone else, Boya might have liberated his head from his shoulders for robbing him of his dignity like this but, well. It was QingMing. His indecency was expected and wholly unsurprising these days, if not always welcomed.

And yet here he is, stripped of armour both physical and metaphoric, accepting if not willing.

Who is he trying to fool? There is not a force in this realm or the heavenly that could make Boya do that which he is not willing to do, and Boya is still undecided on if QingMing, the bastard, knows this.

Opposite him, his host is resplendent in his richly layered robes, white and blue tones against the silken fall of ebony hair only half done up, as if he'd been preparing to venture out only to change his mind at the last moment. Considering the unexpectedness of Boya's arrival, he wouldn't be surprised. It wouldn't be the first time QingMing had cast aside plans to breeze into his life and turn it upside down.

Admittedly, Boya had ventured towards the other masters home earlier than usual. Normally, there would be a stretch of months between visits on the occasions they did not cross paths out in the world, yet this time the demon hunter had found his feet bringing him home without conscious approval or thought.

Whether it was dreaded sentiment or boredom that brought him here so soon he did not know, but the obvious delight it brought QingMing cast such thoughts out the proverbial window.

Grasping the voluminous fall of a silken sleeve, Boya refills his cup, eyes never once leaving his task despite the obvious attempt of his host to catch his gaze.

It always begains like this. And as always, Boya is not the first to break the silence.

"Boya."

Finally, with quickly choked smugness, the demon hunter sips from his refilled cup and raised his gaze, eyebrow quirking.

"Mn?"

QingMing flutters his fan once against his chin before closing it with a gentle flick.

"There exist a great many horrors in this world." The master begins, almost solemnly. Boya feels his brow creep higher.

"I'm aware." He replies, as if it was not literally his job to hunt down said horrors and destroy them with prejudice. QingMing's eyes drift slightly heavenward, almost but not quite daring to roll, and Boya hides the slight upward tick of his lips behind his cup.

Boya is not one for games, but when it comes to QingMing, he finds himself not above it.  _ One such horror _ , he thinks sardonically.

"Boya." QingMing says again, tone uncharacteristically solemn around his name, and Boya blinks once, perplexed.

"What scares you more than anything?" The question surprises Boya, and his lips part around an automatic response before he pauses, thinks about it. Some years ago, before he'd chased a demon for a pippa, he might have said he feared nothing. Further back, as a boy, he might have said he feared fox demons. Today, now, as he turns the question over in his mind, something within him holds out an answer that he does not quite know how to grasp. Tentatively, he touches the thought, rolls it between mental fingers, feels the texture of it, the unexpectedness, the  _ weight _ of it.

The thought rolls itself past his lips.

"You." It falls between them, surprises them both. QingMing's eyes are fixed unerringly to his face, and despite himself, Boya finds that he squirms.

Not quite self-consciously, but not quite casually, he reaches up to grasp the collar of his borrowed robe where it has fallen apart unnoticed to bare his collarbones. He pulls the silk closed over his exposed skin and turns his gaze away, back to the curling mist and rain dappled blossoms.

"What?" Qingming breathes several beats of his inexplicably racing heart later. He sounds shocked, incredulous, hurt. As if he's unsure of Boya's sincerity, as if Boya jokes. As if there was a force in this life or the after that could drive him to harm Boya, as if he did not overcome a block that had existed since boyhood to do the exact opposite. As if his unwillingness to see Boya hurt or afraid had not risen him to true Mastery.

"Why?" The question almost breaks part way through, and Boya swallows, thick and sweet. 

_ I died _ . He remembers.  _ Gladly _ . He thinks.  _ I came back. _ He does not say.  _ I always come back. _

"I don't think you understand," He finally says, once the pain and confusion in QingMing's gaze becomes too much. "Just how much power you hold over me."

He doesn't understand it himself, is surprised that the revelation is unsurprising.

Boya wanders, far and wide. He hunts, he kills, he meets kindness and he meets cruelty. Demons, spirits, humans, hate, fear, love.

He always comes back. His feet always bring him here, one way or another. He doesn't quite think this is home, but he thinks the man across from him might be. He doesn't remember when that came to be, or how. It just is. The sky is blue, water is wet, Boya always finds QingMing.

He doesn't know if he's anyone's home. Thinks he'd rather not know.

That's what he fears, he thinks. More than anything.

He does know, however.

QingMing always finds him too.

_ -Fin _

**Author's Note:**

> Initially written on tumblr for a prompt. Via mobile. Please be kind 😄


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